A Night At The Roxbury Movie Review
It's something they do with their Madison Avenue boys. They teach them mind tricks and manipulations, slights of hand, scams, lies, and cheats. They teach them how to make the worst movie seem like a pile of good jokes, glitz, and glamour. They did such a thing to A Night at the Roxbury.
To sum it up in a sentence: A Night at the Roxbury is a cheap, dumb movie that makes Firestorm and The Wedding Singer look like fine art, made by a couple of members of the BAA (Barfly Association of America) who act themselves on Saturday Night Live weekly at the exact moment when we decide to turn off our TV sets and go to bed. There is no humor; there is no redeeming value. There is no possibility of fun at this movie. Sure, a few very stupid eight-year-olds laughed behind me once or twice, but, aside from that, the theater was silent enough to hear crickets. I have nothing against SNL. I loved Wayne's World and would never say a bad word against Chris Farley. It's just that this wouldn't work as a skit. It wouldn't work as anything. Wait... no. It would work very well for target practice.